Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Beaucaire Castle

Languedoc, Southern France

1220 A.D.

T he day was bright, warm and beautiful. Just a few miles from the Mediterranean Sea, Beaucaire was normally bright, warm and beautiful, something that Derica loved about her adopted home. Norfolk had been such a cold, wet place that the balmy warmth of the Languegoc region of France was something she had taken to immediately. She adored the climate.

Gazing up into the blue, blue sky, she was startled when two out of her four sons came barreling out of the stable yard astride new Belgian chargers that their father had recently purchased for them. Derica moved out of the way as her eldest son, Weston, came too close to her, wrestling with a big blond beast that was unwilling to be tamed. When the horse began to buck, she leapt up onto the flight of stone steps that led into Beaucaire's resident hall.

"West," she scolded. "If that horse throws you, I'll not lift a finger to help. Do you hear me? Break your neck and I'll not weep for you, not one tear."

Weston le Mon smiled at his mother; an extremely handsome man with his father's good looks and his mother's bright green eyes, he continued to happily wrestle with the animal.

"Not to worry, sweetheart," he told his mother. "I will not keep this animal, although I would dearly like to. I plan to give him to Rose's betrothed as a wedding gift."

"Ha!"

The shout came from the gaping entry into the gray-stoned resident hall of Beaucaire. Stunningly beautiful at seventeen years of age and awaiting the arrival of her betrothed, Roselyn le Mon scowled menacingly at her brother.

"You will do no such thing, Weston le Mon," she gathered her skirts and took the stairs angrily. "I'll not be made a widow before I even become a bride."

As Weston laughed softly at his sister, his younger brother by fourteen months came up beside him on an equally fired-up war horse. Davin le Mon, the only sibling with dark hair in a family of light-haired people, grinned at his sister.

"You worry overly, love," he told her. "Your new husband will be thrilled with this gift. 'Tis exactly what a new bridegroom wants– a wild horse to tame."

The brothers laughed lewdly but Roselyn was on to their game. "He shall be thrilled until the beast bucks him off and kills him," she shook a finger at the brothers. "No tricks, you two; do you hear me? No chasing this one off. I think I should like to marry him."

The brothers passed wry expressions at each other, preparing to respond until they were distracted by a yell from the stable yards. Their youngest brother suddenly came shooting out of the yard astride a massive white horse, struggling to control the beast. As the family watched with a mixture of horror and bemusement, Austin le Mon let the horse take him on a couple of wild circles around the bailey of Beaucaire until finally managing to pull the horse to a halt.

The biggest of the four le Mon brothers, Austin was the mirror image of their father in his youth. He finally brought the horse to a stop, wiping his brow to the laughter of his brothers.

"I thought I was a dead man," he breathed, slapping the big white neck affectionately. "He shall make a wonderful wedding gift for Roselyn's beau, don't you think?"

"No!" Roselyn threw her hands up. "No wild horses!"

"But…," Austin began.

"I say not!" Roselyn turned to Derica, grasping her mother by the arm. "Please, Mother; tell them to leave my betrothed alone. No wild horses, no swords that are weighted with lead, and no wine that has been mixed with pepper so that he will cry for days. Please make them stop!"

Derica looked at her boys, the exact image of her own brothers in spirit and demeanor. Daniel, Donat and Dixon would have been proud. She had grown up with this kind of madness, never dreaming she would also breed it. Weston, Davin and Austin were loving, strong and powerful, but with a wild streak in them that would test God's patience.

"Your sister has requested you not chase her intended away," she lifted an eyebrow at the handsome faces. "You will kindly obey her wishes or my punishment shall be swift. Do we, in any way, misunderstand one another?"

Davin was the first to shake his head. "Nay, Mother," he assured her. "We understand perfectly."

Weston and Austin nodded sincerely but there wasn't a bit of truth to it. Derica lifted the other eyebrow at her boys to reinforce her request just as Austin's white stallion reared up and dumped him onto the dirt of the bailey. The horse ran off as Weston and Davin laughed uproariously.

"Austin, I find you in this position far too often," Garren suddenly emerged from the resident hall, pulling on his massive leather gloves as he descended the stairs. He had missed the bucking stallion. "One would think with your size and strength, you would be able to best your brothers when they toss you around."

Austin picked himself up, brushing off his bum. "It wasn't my brothers," he lifted his hand in the direction of the open portcullis. "It was the horse."

"The new one I just purchased for you?"

"Aye, Da."

Garren came to a halt next to his wife and daughter, still fumbling with his gloves. He lifted a threatening eyebrow at his youngest son.

"Then what are you doing still standing here?" he asked. "Go get that animal. It cost a small fortune."

As Weston and Davin snorted, Austin turned for the stable yard, making a face at his brothers. Davin made one in return, Austin rushed him, and soon the two of them were rolling around in the dirt throwing punches. Derica rolled her eyes and looked at her husband, suddenly noticing a little body standing behind him. She motioned to the tiny figure.

"I did not see you, sweetheart," Derica said. "Come to me."

Twelve year old Lily le Mon went to her mother, allowing herself to be cuddled. As the youngest child in the family, she was sweet and spoiled. If her mother wasn't cuddling her, her father was. In fact, Garren was rarely without his little shadow. Lily was as beautiful as a new spring morning with her blond hair and big blue eyes. While Roselyn had a lush, seductive beauty, Lily looked like a sweet little poppet. At twelve years of age, she should have left to foster long ago but her parents couldn't bear to part with her, so she remained at Beaucaire.

As Derica hugged her youngest, a tall, black-haired young man suddenly emerged from the resident. He, too, was pulling on his leather gloves, much like Garren had been. In fact, their actions were almost identical. Sian le Mon had grown up idolizing the big, blond knight, so much so that he was very nearly the spitting image of him in action and mindset. As the eldest of the le Mon brothers, he acted more like Garren than any of his brothers did. Even if he wasn't Garren's son by blood, he was certainly his son by spirit and nature.

"We should get going before the day grows any deeper," he said to his father as he came down the stairs. "The shops in town will be closing early for Vespers."

"Where are you going?" Derica wanted to know.

Sian leaned over, kissed her cheek, and continued down the steps to the bailey. "Into town," he replied. "The tavern keeper at the Pig and the Fife said that he received a massive shipment of St. Cloven ale all the way from England. Father and I are going to buy as much as we can for Roselyn's wedding feast."

"If the groom ever gets here," Davin was picking himself out of the dirt as Austin struggled to his knees. "Maybe he is not even coming. Maybe he has decided to marry someone else."

Roselyn's big green eyes welled up. "Dada," she sniffed. "Tell them to stop being so hateful."

Garren stopped messing with his gloves and eyed his middle son. "Enough, Davy," he ordered quietly. "Upset your sister again and I shall take it out on your hide."

He didn't mean it but the threat was enough to silence Davin as he rose to his feet. Austin stood up next to him, weaving unsteadily in the wake of a righteous punch to the head from his brother.

"She was hateful to us first," Austin pointed out. "She told us that her new husband would fight us if we did not ply her with gifts every day for the next year."

Derica fought off a grin, as did Garren. He pointed a thick finger at his sons. "That is because you have much to make up for," he said sternly. "You three have harassed your sister since the day she was born. 'Tis a wonder I didn't throw you all to the wolves with all of the havoc you have wrought."

Roselyn stood next to her father, nodding vehemently. "Putting honey in my bed," she sneered. "And saffron in rosewater so it turned my teeth yellow. And…!"

Garren put his hand on her copper-blond head to silence her. "And probably more that I do not even know about so, if I were you, I would listen to her. Be kind to your sister on the event of her wedding. And if you go anywhere near her marriage bed, you shall rue the day you were born. Is that understood?"

Roselyn stuck her tongue out at her brothers for good measure; with her father's support, she was brave enough to antagonize them. As she continued to make faces at them, Derica grasped her husband by the arm when he turned to walk away.

"Would you please bring me a selection of fabric while you are in town?" she asked. "I want to make some more garments for Aneirin's child."

Garren struggled not to roll his eyes at her. "Sweetheart, you have already made that child a massive wardrobe and he is not even born yet," he said, then relented when he saw the look on her face. He threw up his hands and turned away from her. "Oh, very well; I know he is our first grandchild. Surely the Christ Child was not so anticipated or revered as Aneirin's first child."

Derica watched him go, knowing he felt the same way about Aneirin's first baby as she did. They were both so excited they could barely stand it. Aneirin had been married to a fine knight for seven years, childless until this past year when she discovered that she was pregnant. Derica thought that Garren was perhaps more excited about it than Aneirin was although he pretended otherwise. It was a wonderful addition to their already wonderful world.

The sound of distant horses suddenly interrupted her thoughts. In fact, Garren came to a halt, turning towards the wide-open portcullis as the sounds of hooves grew louder. The portcullis of the castle was almost never closed, and that was usually only at night. Beaucaire had been at peace for four years since the Count of Toulouse had captured it, putting Garren in charge of the garrison.

Garren had served the Count since fleeing England some twenty three years earlier, having come to the Count with his father's reference. Although Chateroy hadn't been destroyed those years ago by the de Rosas, it had been heavily damaged and Garren's father was thankful it hadn't been razed altogether. He also understood, clearly, why Garren needed to leave England. So the Count accepted Garren into his service based on former service from Sir Allan le Mon of Anglecynn and Ceri. The Count never asked why Garren had left England and Garren had never offered. For over twenty years, it had been the perfect arrangement.

Therefore, Garren wasn't particularly concerned with the sounds of approaching hooves but he did order his soldiers on the wall to lower the first of the double-portcullises about half-way. That was so men on horses couldn't suddenly storm in and rush the bailey without getting their heads cut off. He approached the open gate as the sounds grew louder. Behind him, the four le Mon brothers were already moving to arm themselves; as trained knights, like their father, they were always prepared.

As Garren wait for the horsemen to make an appearance, Lily suddenly ran to her father before Derica could stop her, grasping her father's hand tightly and smiling up into his concerned face. Although Garren knew he should send her back with her mother and sister into the keep, he relented when he beheld her lovely face, going so far as to wink at her and squeeze her hand. Happy, Lily pressed herself against her father, half-hidden behind his massive bulk, as three riders suddenly appeared at the half-lowered portcullis.

The riders immediately came to a halt; to go any further would mean getting knocked off their horses by the half-lowered iron grate. The horses danced about nervously as the riders eventually dismounted. One man handed his reins to the man next to him and ducked underneath the lowered portcullis.

"Stop," Garren boomed. "Come no further before you announce yourself."

The armored man came to a halt. After a long, tense pause, he finally off his helm. Garren's eyes nearly popped from his skull in astonishment as he recognized the face.

"Fergus!" he hissed.

Fergus de Edwin flashed his toothy grin; he was older, perhaps thinner, but there was no mistaking the bright blue eyes or graying blond hair.

"I see that I have come to the right place," he said. "You are as ugly as ever, Garren."

"And you are still as stupid."

It was their traditional greeting, much missed and much revered. Garren was already making his way towards Fergus, who met him somewhere near the raise second portcullis. In lieu of an extended verbal greeting, Garren simply threw his arms around the man. Fergus returned the gesture and they hugged each other to reaffirm old bonds. The affection, the friendship, was still there and as strong as it had ever been. Words, at the moment, were fairly useless.

"I do not even know where to start," Garren said as he pulled back, gazing into Fergus' face with complete, utter amazement. "How on earth did you find me?"

Fergus clapped Garren on the side of the face. "Your father told me," he said, catching a glimpse of a pretty young girl half- hidden behind Garren. His focus turned to her, startled. "And who is this pretty faerie princess? Is she magic, perhaps?"

He was looking at Lily as he spoke. Lily flushed bright red and shook her head, pressing her face into her father's side. Fergus watched her a moment longer before returning his focus to Garren.

"Surely she must belong to you," he said softly.

Garren grinned, lifting his arm so he could get a glimpse of Lily with her face buried in his torso.

"She does," he said. "This is the Lady Lily le Mon. And the rest of the group behind me also belongs to me. I believe you know my wife."

Fergus hadn't noticed Derica standing on the steps with a lovely young woman beside her. As their eyes met, Derica smiled broadly and descended the stone stairs into the bailey, coming upon Fergus and doing just as her husband had; she hugged him fiercely. Fergus seemed a bit overwhelmed at everything, studying the faces of the young men and women looking back at him. He gestured to the group.

"All yours?" he asked Garren and Derica, incredulous.

Garren nodded, glancing over his shoulder at his children. "All ours; Weston, Davin, Austin, Sian and Roselyn. You remember Sian, of course."

Fergus thought back through the years to that dark-haired little boy from Pembroke. "I do."

"His sister is married and about to have her first child."

Fergus shook his head in amazement. "Quite a brood, I must say," he was still in disbelief. "And they are all grown. Has it been so long between us, Garren?"

Garren nodded slowly, so very glad to see the man. "It has been too long," he murmured, his expression growing intense. "Tell me why you have come."

Fergus took a deep breath; he was still amazed with Garren and Derica and all of their children. He could not believe how much time had passed. But he focused on Garren's question, on the reason for his visit. It was important.

"I come bearing news, Garren," he lowered his voice. "Much has happened recently."

"Recently?" Garren's brow furrowed. "What has happened?"

Fergus clapped a hand on Garren's enormous shoulder. "The Marshal passed away not long ago," he replied. "His son is now the new Earl of Pembroke."

Garren felt a flash of sadness for the man he had once served. He nodded in acceptance, acknowledgement. "I will pray for him," he said softly. "But never did I doubt my decision to leave his service and, consequently England, was the correct one. I could not have lived in peace had I stayed."

Fergus sighed faintly, scratching his forehead, eyeing the little girl now peeking out from behind her father.

"He knew where you were, you know," he muttered.

"Who?"

"The Marshal. He knew where you had gone almost the moment you left. Had he truly been out for vengeance, he could have done it long ago. I would not be too bitter towards him if I were you."

Garren's brow furrowed. "How did he know?"

Fergus lifted his eyebrows. "Do not forget that de Poyer and I knew you were alive, as did my father. The Marshal came to Pembroke shortly after you fled England and, after a night and day of drinking, my father told the Marshal everything. So he knew from nearly the beginning."

Garren's eyebrows lifted. "And he never sought to find me? Not ever?"

Fergus shook his head slowly. "All he ever said to me about you was that he hoped you were finally happy, wherever you were. No more than that."

Garren looked at Derica, who gazed back at him with wide-eyes. All of these years he thought he had been hiding from William Marshal when the truth was that the Marshal knew where he was the entire time. Upon reflection, it didn't surprise him. The Marshal made it a habit of knowing everything. He turned back to Fergus.

"So why have you come?" he asked. "Surely not to tell me of the Marshal's passing. It is of no consequence to me, truly. My life is here at Beaucaire and I have no intention of leaving."

Fergus wriggled his eyebrows. "Perhaps not," he said. "But I have not come for that reason alone. I have also come to tell you that your father passed away last month. You are now the new baron of Anglecynn and Ceri. Chateroy Castle is now yours."

Garren stared at him a long moment, feeling Derica's hand on his arm comfortingly. "My father passed away?"

"Aye. I am sorry, Garren. I know you loved him."

Garren nodded faintly, saddened by the fact that his father would never get to see his strong grandsons or beautiful granddaughters. But he had known that the moment he fled English soil. Still, it was a sad moment.

Fergus could see the sorrow in his expression but he continued. "There is more," he said softly. "I have brought with me documents from the Marshal. He told me to give them to you should I ever see you, so I suppose now is the time. Do you recall that he granted your wife lands and title upon your death at the Battle of Lincoln?"

Garren nodded vaguely, not particularly remembering the details. "What of it?"

Fergus' bright blue eyes began to gleam. "He never took them back, you know. Once he gave them to Derica, they became hers forever. She is a very wealthy heiress of the Buckton Marcher lordship that stretches from Hopton Castle on the east, Adforton to the south, Craven Arms to the north, and includes four towns, two fiefdoms, and about five thousand vassals. She also has possession of Clun Castle, four hundred soldiers and ten thousand gold marks. William Marshal the Younger is holding all of this for your return, should you ever decide to return."

Garren and Derica stared at him with big eyes before turning to each other, a thousand unspoken words between them. Garren finally shook his head and turned to Fergus, confused and bordering on irritation.

"So you come to France to tell me of my father's death, the Marshal's death, and of vast wealth awaiting my wife and I should we return to England?" he reiterated. "Fergus, you could have done yourself a favor, remained in England, and simply sent me a missive. All of this does not change the way I feel about my life; I have been deliriously happy for the past twenty three years and have no intention of returning to England."

Before Fergus could reply, Derica put her hand on her husband's arm.

"But your family home is now yours, Garren," she said quietly. "Do you not want your sons to return to Chateroy to continue the le Mon legacy? Surely you do not want it to die out with you."

Garren looked at her; Derica had only grown more beautiful with the years, her lovely face hardly lined and her green eyes just as bright. She was literally his heart and soul. He didn't know what he would do without her.

"Are you not happy here?" he asked softly. "Must we uproot our family because of old ties and old memories?"

She smiled at him, wrapping her arms around him and Lily, was still pressed against her father.

"Of course I am," she said. "But Chateroy is your legacy and has been in your family for two hundred years. You do not want to see it end with you. As for the rest, well… perhaps it will make a fine gift to our children, don't you think? We can divide up the Buckton lordship among them and they will have lands upon which to build their own legacies."

Garren didn't look entirely sure but he respected his wife's opinion. Still, there was much to talk about. In just a few short minutes, his life had changed dramatically and he wasn't sure how to feel about any of it.

Lost in thought, he failed to notice that the two other men who had accompanied Fergus had dismounted their horses. Lily had somehow unhinged herself from her father and had wandered over to them, gazing up at them with her bottomless blue eyes. The two men looked down at the little girl, inspecting her as she was inspecting them.

Lily was not usually so bold with strangers, which made her behavior odd. But she didn't seem particularly wary of these strangers for some reason. She stared up at them curiously.

"Who are you?" she finally asked.

The men in armor were big, one bigger than the other. The larger of the pair stiffly knelt down in front of Lily, almost eye-level with her. Then he removed his helm.

Hoyt de Rosa's tired old face gazed at Lily as if she was the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth. The old eyes were soft with emotion.

"My name is Hoyt," he said in his soft, deep voice. "Who are you?"

Hearing Hoyt's voice brought a gasp from Derica, followed by instant tears when she saw him. But Lily ignored her mother, instead, focused on the very old man in front of her.

"I am Lily Elspeth de Rosa le Mon," she said her name very quickly and fluidly. "Why are you here?"

"I am your mother's uncle," Hoyt replied. "You are very pretty, Lily. You look a good deal like your mother when she was young."

Lily eyed him a moment, finally pointing to the other young lady who was standing slightly behind her mother.

"That is my sister, Roselyn," she said. "She is awaiting her betrothed today but my brothers have said he is probably not coming because he is probably marrying someone else."

"What?" Hoyt roared softly, rising to his feet as he gazed at the very beautiful Roselyn. "How is this possible? Your sister is too beautiful to be jilted. Who is this bridegroom that would shame my grand niece?"

Although he was big and scary, Lily didn't sense bad from the man. In fact, she rather liked him. She slipped her hand into his massive gauntlet and continued to study him curiously. When he looked down at her, she smiled. Next to Hoyt, the last helmed man lifted his visor, revealing his face to the world.

"No man will shame my granddaughter so," Bertram de Rosa said softly. "Lily, you will tell me his name so that I may champion your sister."

Derica went from soft tears to great sobs as she rushed to her father, throwing herself into his arms. Bertram, very old and very tired, hugged his daughter tightly.

"Da," she wept. "How… how…?"

She couldn't finish and Bertram didn't let her; he held her back at arm's length, holding her sweet face in his hands and drinking in the sight of her. Although his eyesight was failing him and he was nearly crippled, he still felt the need to come and see to his daughter after all of these years. The past twenty three years had not caused him to forget her. He had missed her every day.

"Every night I prayed for your happiness and safety," he murmured, watching tears spill down her cheeks. "Every day, I would wonder where you were and if you were happy. I see that God has answered my prayers; you are as happy as you are beautiful, and I am thankful."

Derica kissed her father's cheeks, struggling to still her tears. "But how did you know where to find me?" she looked between Hoyt and Fergus and her husband. "I do not understand how."

Bertram smiled wearily, putting his arm around her shoulder and leaning heavily on her. Derica could see as well as feel how exhausted her father was and it concerned her, overshadowing her joy. Everything aside, he was an old man who had traveled a very long way.

"Hoyt told me," Bertram said quietly. "He discovered your whereabouts through your husband's friend, Fergus."

Derica knew the greater implications of Hoyt's, and Fergus', loyalties but she said nothing, Perhaps her father didn't know their connection; perhaps he did. Either way, it didn't seem to matter any longer. Loyalties or politics could not trump family and friendship bonds.

"And so you came with Fergus and Hoyt to see me?" she asked softly.

Bertram nodded. "When I caught Hoyt sneaking out in the middle of the night nearly a month ago, I demanded to know where he was going. After much discussion, he finally confessed. I knew I had to come. I know there was much dissention the last we saw each other, Derica… I was hoping that with time you have forgiven a selfish old man."

Derica shook her head emphatically. "Of course I have," she assured him. "I am so happy you have come. You have, in fact, come at a most opportune time. As Lily told you, Roselyn is expecting her betrothed any moment. She will be more than pleased to have her grandfather attend her wedding."

By this time, the boys had begun to gather around the emotional group near the portcullis and Derica took the time to introduce her and Garren's sons. It was apparent that the boys were of de Rosa stock and Bertram was deeply touched to be greeted by grandsons he never knew he had. Roselyn even gave him a kiss on the cheek, causing the old man to get misty-eyed. Derica watched it all with tears in her eyes, never imagining it was something she would ever witness. Family, and life, had come full circle.

But she could see the sheer exhaustion in her father as he spoke with his grandchildren and she was determined to get him inside to rest. She took his elbow gently, firmly.

"Come along, now," she urged her father towards the gray-stoned resident hall. "There is all the time in the world to become acquainted later. Right now, I want you to rest and recover. It has been a long trip for all of you."

Bertram resisted. "I am more interested in meeting my granddaughter's betrothed," he said, sounding very much like the Bertram de Rosa of old. "Who is this man? What of his family and loyalties?"

Derica looked at Garren, shaking her head ironically. "Do you remember the last time my father met a bridegroom?"

Garren lifted an eyebrow. "I do indeed."

"The situation could get ugly."

Garren merely shook his head and snorted, having a difficult time believing the irony of history repeating itself. Roselyn was at his side, grasping his big hand tightly.

"Tell me, Dada," she begged. "When was it? What happened?"

Garren looked at his daughter, fearful to tell her. "Well," he began slowly. "It was…."

"His name is Paul le Velle," Davin suddenly piped up as they all walked towards the resident hall. "His father is the local sheriff and he comes from a family of all women."

Bertram looked at his grandson, his eyebrows lifted. "All women?"

Davin nodded eagerly. "His mother is a shrew and his sisters are hags," he made a face, completely riling his sister. "They live like a pack of animals on the other side of town."

Roselyn let out a shriek and began chasing Davin around the bailey, swatting at him with her hands. Lily was tugging on Hoyt, pulling him up the stairs towards the entry, as everyone else followed. Bertram watched Roselyn make contact with Davin's head, grinning when the young man began to howl. When Austin and Weston took up the face-making complete with witch sound effects, all three boys ended up running from their furious sister.

Only Sian was left out of the fun; he was more serious, like his father, and watched the antics as the taunting boys and furious sister made their way into the keep. Derica noticed that her father was grinning from ear to ear.

"Why do you look like that?" she asked.

Bertram shook his head faintly. "'Tis as if I am watching you and your brothers thirty years ago," he replied. "Brothers and sisters never change."

Derica laughed softly. "Well, those boys had better change or Roselyn will have their hides."

Bertram lifted his eyebrows. "They have de Rosa blood in them, daughter. They will never change."

Derica laughed softly. Lily, still attached to Hoyt, reached out to take Bertram's hand, escorting both elderly gentlemen into the resident hall, leaving Derica and Garren bringing up the rear. Garren smiled down at his wife, wrapping his arms around her affectionately.

"It looks as if Roselyn's betrothed must endure what I had to go through," he murmured, kissing her on the forehead. "Four brothers, a grandfather and a grand uncle to scrutinize him like an ibis among alligators. God help us all."

Derica laughed softly at the old reference, gazing into his strong face, more handsome than she had ever remembered him.

"Thank God that the alligators did not eat the ibis those years ago," she murmured. "I would have never have known such joy."

Garren's features softened. "Nor would I," he leaned down, kissing her lips tenderly. "We have much to be thankful for."

When Paul le Velle arrived less than an hour later, he found himself surrounded by a new generation of alligators. But this time, the ibis wasn't set upon. He was scrutinized but not devoured, and Roselyn managed to have a wedding night without nails in the mattress or eggs in the pillow. Her father saw to that.

Garren le Mon never again saw the green fields of England or Chateroy Castle. But, then again, he didn't much care. His legacy did not include anything left to him by his ancestors. A missive sent to his aged sister, Gabrielle, had bequeathed Chateroy Castle to her, which she in turn deeded to Yaxley Nene, and that was how Chateroy Castle became a Benedictine monastery for the next three hundred and forty two years, until fire burned it to the ground.

Garren had created his own legacy, safe in the bosom of Beaucaire Castle, eventually buried in the same crypt as his wife and, as the centuries passed, surrounded by his descendants. And in Wales, Cilgarren Castle remained standing into the new millennium, still called by its rightful name, no longer bearing tales of Owain and Brendalyn, but of the mysterious Lord Garren and his wife who vanished into the river only to be saved by good faeries. All of these things were left to the ages by Garren and Derica.

It was the best legacy either could have ever imagined.

* THE END *